Meeting Mr. Right (4 page)

“She—er—works in flowers. I can’t really tell you much more than that, I mean about her career.” He turned his back to her and scanned the flower bed. “Is it all right if I just rip into this bag any way I want, or is there a secret procedure I’m not aware of?”

Clearly he was deflecting. Vee was tempted to press the issue just to stir things up a bit, but she refrained. Once he’d finished breaking Olivia’s heart, Ben’s female “friends” had become no business of hers.

“No special instructions,” she informed him. “Just try to open it so too much of the fertilizer doesn’t spill out all at once.”

“Got it,” he said, flashing her a smile.

Who was this elusive
she
who worked with flowers? Vee wondered in spite of herself. He sounded as if he truly cared for her, whoever she was. Maybe he’d learned his lesson and matured some. Or maybe he’d met a woman who hadn’t immediately fallen prey to his charms, and it had forced him to actually put some effort into a relationship. But if that was the case, this woman must really be something special. She would have to be a classic beauty. Vee could almost picture the woman—long, flowing blond hair and perfect makeup that accentuated deep cheekbones and a perfect chin.

The exact opposite of Vee, in other words. No one could call her heart-shaped face
classic.
The dimple in her chin marred any chance for that. At best, she could be called pretty—but it wasn’t the sort of pretty anyone noticed. She was way too easily overlooked for reasons that had nothing to do with her diminutive height. Her strength was her intelligence, not her beauty, and men didn’t line up at the door to date smart women. At least in her experience—or lack of—they didn’t.

Which mattered
why?

She scoffed inwardly and turned her mind back to her work. She wasn’t going to consider any other possibility except that she might be nursing her own curiosity. And even that felt inappropriate. She shouldn’t care one bit about Ben or about any women that he knew and might care for.

At the end of the day, Ben was still the man who’d broken the heart of her best friend. That hadn’t and wouldn’t change. Unfortunately for Ben, Vee had a long memory, and though she knew God would want her to forgive him, she just wasn’t there yet.

It might have been easier if Ben had hurt
Vee
and not her friend. She could shake off an injury to herself, but going after someone she loved—that was stepping over the mark. She tended to go all mama tiger on anyone who hurt her friends and loved ones.

And by “anyone” she meant Ben.

Vee shook her head and jammed the trowel into the bag of soil, perhaps a bit more forcefully than was absolutely necessary. With a renewed effort, she set to work, trying to keep her mind focused on the task at hand and not the man turning the earth just a few feet to her left.

To her surprise, she and Ben worked well together. After Ben had turned the soil, they retrieved the rosebushes from the truck. It was nice to have an extra pair of hands. Planting went smoothly and much quicker than Vee had anticipated.

Then they moved their combined attention to the plot for the vegetable garden. Ben flipped over the dense spring turf and mixed it with fertilizer while Vee followed along behind him, planting seeds with her trowel.

They didn’t speak much, but that was just as well. Vee didn’t know what to say to him, and she hated it when she felt like she needed to chatter just to fill up the space. She wasn’t much for small talk.

Before she knew it, the entire afternoon had passed and the sun was starting to make its descent in the west. Vee glanced at her watch and was surprised to find it was after six o’clock in the evening. Where had the time gone?

“I think it’s about quitting time,” she said, tapping the face of her watch. “I’ll be back to finish what’s left tomorrow. I appreciate all your help today. I wouldn’t have gotten nearly this far without you.”

Ben wiped the sweat off his forehead with the edge of his shirt, then rubbed his palms together and grimaced.

“What’s wrong with your hand?” she asked, reaching out to examine his left palm.

“It’s nothing. I just got a couple of blisters.” Stubbornly, he drew his hand into a fist to prevent her from examining it.

“Let me see.” He refused at first, keeping his hand tightly clenched, but she ignored his protests and gently worked his fingers open so she could scrutinize his wound.

“See? It’s not so bad,” he muttered through gritted teeth. “No big deal.”

“Maybe not,” she answered in a conciliatory tone, “but you need to clean your palm so it doesn’t get infected. You stay there,” she said, pointing to a porch chair. “I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

She entered the house through the sliding door in the back and brushed her shoes against the welcome mat. “Excuse me, Mrs. Atwood?”

“You’re still here?” asked Ben’s mom in surprise as she entered the room. “I would have thought you’d have something better to do on a Friday night than hang around here, especially if you’re not on call at the fire station. Don’t tell me there’s no fancy date with a handsome hunk?”

Vee blushed so hard she thought her head might pop. “No, ma’am. Not tonight.”

Not
ever,
actually, but Vee didn’t see the need to elaborate on the subject.

Ben’s mother chuckled lightly. “Their loss.”

“Yes, ma’am,” she agreed, becoming more embarrassed by the moment. She decided to change the subject before it got completely out of control. “I was wondering if you had any rubbing alcohol or hydrogen peroxide that I could use. Ben has a few blisters on his hands, and I’d hate for them to get infected.”

“Of course. My son isn’t used to shoveling dirt, poor dear. Why don’t you sit down for a moment while I get them for you?” His mom sounded more amused than concerned by her son’s dire plight. She gestured to a chair at the dining room table, but Vee politely declined. Despite the woman’s kindness, Vee decided it was better for her to remain standing on the mat where she wouldn’t accidentally make a mess with her dirty clothing.

In less than a minute, Ben’s mother returned with a bottle of rubbing alcohol, a roll of gauze, a handful of large cotton balls and a tube of antibacterial cream, delivered with a perceptive smile.

“There you go, hon. Everything you need to patch my boy up right.”

“This ought to do it,” Vee agreed warmly. Ben’s mother was one of the most pleasant women she knew. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Atwood.”

“Never a problem. You tell Ben that his mother said that he ought to wear gloves next time.”

Vee chuckled. “Oh, don’t worry. I will.” How nice, to have his mother’s permission to rub it in a little bit, both literally and figuratively.

Laden with her impromptu medical kit, she returned to where Ben waited, tucked onto a porch chair with his legs extended before him, crossed at the ankles. His head was back, his eyes were closed and his chest was rising and falling evenly. Vee thought he might be asleep and wondered if she ought to wake him, but when she approached, his eyes, with those thick, long eyelashes that only men ever seemed blessed with, fluttered open.

His gaze narrowed on her tentatively when he saw the bottle of rubbing alcohol in her hand.

“Rubbing alcohol? That wouldn’t have been my first choice.” He sounded none too thrilled about it.

“Don’t be a baby. Now put out your hand.”

Ben frowned but allowed her to pry the fingers of his left hand open, palm upward.

Vee doused a cotton ball in rubbing alcohol, cupped his hand in hers and began dabbing at the red, angry blisters that covered his palm.

“Ow,” Ben complained, trying to pull his hand out of her grip. “That hurts.”

Vee persisted in wiping the wounds, ignoring his protests. “If you insist on pulling away like that, it’s going to take a lot longer to get this done.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he asked suspiciously. “You’re making it hurt on purpose.”

Was he teasing her? Maybe. She couldn’t tell, so she went for a neutral—though truthful—response. “Of course not. I would never do that.”

Vee carefully wrapped his hand in strips of gauze so he couldn’t accuse her of further assaults on his person. “There. All better. Just keep it clean, okay? Doctor’s orders.”

“Hey, are you forgetting who the paramedic is here?”

“Fine, then—mother’s orders. If you don’t like it, take it up with your mom. She’s the one who gave me the supplies to get you bandaged up. And if you don’t keep that gauze clean, you’ll be answering to her.”

“Do you really think I can do that? I work with cars, remember?”

“That could be an issue. I don’t know how you’re going to avoid grease when you’re tinkering with a car engine. I suppose you’ll just have to do the best you can.”

“I will,” he promised, but under his breath he muttered, “I’m glad you’re a firefighter and not a nurse.”

“That makes two of us. I didn’t try to hurt you on purpose, but I’ll be the first to admit my bedside manner is a little rough.”

“A little?” He chuckled and shook his head. “If that’s what you’re like when you’re trying to help me then I’d hate to think of the damage you could do if you really were trying to hurt me.”

Hurt you like you hurt Olivia?
Vee thought to herself. He must have noticed the shift in her expression that accompanied the new direction of her thoughts because he quickly changed the subject.

“Now that the work’s done—the planting and the bandaging—would you like to stay for dinner? I know I told you I can’t cook, and I can’t, but even I can manage to throw a couple of steaks on the grill without ruining them. Mama usually ropes me into grilling for her when the weather cooperates, so I’m guessing that’s probably what she has in mind for today. We’ve got plenty of room at the table for one more, and I’m sure my parents would love for you to stay and visit the family.”

“I should be offering
you
a steak dinner for all the help you’ve been to me today. I wouldn’t have gotten even a quarter as far along as we did together.”

“No problem. I was glad to help. It was for a good cause. And we do work well together.”

He sounded as surprised as she felt. Vee shivered in what she thought must be discomfort, though in truth she didn’t dare identify the emotion. Is that what Ben thought, that they
worked well together?

“As for dinner,” she said and then paused. She already had other plans. Not an in-person date with a handsome hunk who wanted to take her to dinner or out to the movies like Ben’s mother had suggested, but definitely the next best thing. Those
plans
in question were calling to her, tugging at her heartstrings to make short work of leaving and hurry along to Cup o’ Jo Café.

But then there was Ben, with his convincing half smile and dancing gaze. She hesitated.

Vee couldn’t believe she was tempted, even for a moment, to stick around and share a dinner with Ben and his family—but she was. No wonder Olivia had fallen for the man hook, line and sinker. Ben could be very charismatic when he wanted to be.

Nice, even. And he was good-looking, no denying that fact.

Which was
exactly
why she had to say no.

She took a deep breath and plunged in before she lost what was left of her mental faculties and caved to his suggestion.

“I’m sorry, Ben,” she murmured, pausing only for a moment at his crestfallen look. If she didn’t know any better, she would think he actually cared what her answer would be.

But that wouldn’t change it. “As much as I’d love to share a meal with you and your parents this evening,” she continued, “I already have other plans.”

Chapter Four

Dear BJ,

This week has been very tough for me. Sometimes I just feel like I need to let my hair down—do you know what I mean? I’m so guarded all the time, worrying about what people think of me and, even more, what they expect of me. I’m afraid I might not be living up to everyone’s standards.

It’s stressful keeping everything bottled up inside all the time. It would be nice to be able to see things differently for a change, from another point of view. From a different set of eyes.

Oh, who am I kidding? I am what I am and that’s all...well, you know. I’m starting to sound like Popeye now. Terrific. Who ever knew that he was such a sage?

I guess I should just accept the way that God made me and not try to make myself anything different. I might feel like a distinct person inside my heart, but people don’t see that, do they?

That’s never going to change. I’m never going to change.

It’s just that when I read your emails, I feel...well, differently about myself. Stronger. I wish I could be as easygoing as you obviously are.

I downloaded the graphics you sent me. They’re really good! I’m attaching a revised script that incorporates the photographs, so we can begin preparing the final presentation. Let me know if you have any modifications you’d like me to make.

Faithfully,

Veronica Jayne

T
he rich smells of roasted coffee, nutmeg and baked apples warmed Vee’s nostrils as she entered the Cup o’ Jo Café. She inhaled deeply and the tension she always carried around in her shoulders and neck was immediately soothed by the colorful, welcoming atmosphere. The familiar quiet buzz of the other patrons talking as they sat in booths enjoying a hot meal heartened her. Cup o’ Jo had been a regular hangout for Vee growing up, and even now it was her go-to place when she needed a lift in spirits.

Or a computer with internet service. Tonight, she needed both. She couldn’t wait to see if BJ had replied to her last post.

Jo Murphy Spencer, the owner of the café, approached in her usual exuberant way, her red curls bouncing and her smile beaming. The woman never failed to put Vee at ease, no matter how she was feeling when she walked in the door. Jo, with her wacky T-shirts, observant nature and ear for the latest gossip, was like a second mother to most of the town. Vee suspected the older woman knew more about her than most of her friends and neighbors did, but she was okay with that. There was no one better than Jo for doling out sound advice, solicited or not.

“Vee, dear,” Jo exclaimed, waving the purple dishcloth she held in one hand. “Have you come to spend some time on the internet for your Spanish class, or shall I seat you at a table for a nice home-style dinner?”

Vee felt her face warm and hoped Jo didn’t notice the flush of her cheeks. Not much chance of that, though. Jo was extremely perceptive. She was bound to see that something was off, but to Vee’s relief, Jo did nothing more than raise a curious brow.

She was here for the computer, all right, but despite the fact that she had an assignment due the following day that she needed to type up and submit, her Spanish course was the last thing on her mind.

“I’ll just slip in behind the computer in the corner if that one’s available,” Vee said, indicating what looked like an open spot in the straight line of tables across the back wall.

“Coffee? Or do you want something more substantial to feed your brain while you work?”

“A caramel latte would be nice.”

“Skinny?”

“No, I think I need the real thing tonight,” Vee said on a sigh.

“Coming right up,” Jo said, tossing her rag onto her left shoulder and bustling over to the service window behind the counter. “I need a big slice of apple pie, Phoebe, dear,” she called.

“But I didn’t—” Vee started to protest.

Jo waved her away. “On the house, dear. You look like you could use a little something to perk you up, and there ain’t nothing like a slice of one of Phoebe’s famous pies to do just that.”

Vee chuckled and nodded. It was useless to try to argue with Jo when the woman had her mind set on something. All that would do was delay the inevitable. Besides, Vee had planned on ordering dinner here eventually, and apple pie was her favorite.

Tonight, she would start with dessert. After the day she’d just had, she thought she deserved it.

She weaved her way through the tables to the back corner, greeting everyone she passed. Serendipity was a small town. Everybody literally knew everybody—and usually knew everybody’s business—which was part of the reason Vee was so hush-hush regarding her own plans for the future and most especially her potential internet sweetheart. Even her closest friends might accidentally blurt out the truth if they knew about it—which was exactly why they didn’t.

Sliding in behind the computer, she wiggled the mouse to bring the screen out of sleep mode and signed on, first to the college website where her Spanish class was held, and then onto her private email account. Were anyone to come around to speak to her, she could easily toggle the screen so her class work covered her email and save herself from any possible embarrassment or awkwardness.

It was a clandestine moment. She felt almost as if she were taking part in a spy novel. Secret messages. Covert engagements.

Even if they
were
only online.

It was still fun. And perfectly harmless, right?

Vee’s heart raced when she saw that there was a message from BJ. She had nearly a hundred other emails—mostly junk mail mixed with some from friends and classmates—but they went unnoticed as she clicked the one and only link of true importance to her.

Dear Veronica Jayne,

I’ll take a look at the revisions you sent for class later tonight, but right now I’m more intrigued by what you said about yourself. I’ve been thinking about you a lot recently. I think you should do it. No, really, you ought to do it! Put your hair down, I mean, figuratively speaking. Or maybe literally, too, for all I know.

Do you wear your hair down all the time? That’s how I picture you. Long, cascading hair. Pretty eyes. Flowery dresses that course around your ankles in waves.

Am I close? Or am I putting you on the spot?

Even without being able to see you, I can tell what a wonderful person you are. God made you special, Veronica. You need to believe in yourself more—and allow others to believe in you, as well.

I know I do.

Take care,

BJ

Vee leaned back in her seat and smoothed her hair back into a knot at her neck as she let out a deep breath that she hoped was not as audible as it felt.

BJ thought she was
special.

They may not have ever met in person, but he
cared
for her. If Vee’s face had been pink-stained before, it was no doubt a flaming red now.

Her heart and her mind were all over the place, fluttering and diving and soaring. Was it a slip of the fingers? Was any of this real? Could she have feelings for a man she’d technically never met?

She’d heard stories of internet romance, of course, but could it seriously happen to her? Could she truly meet Mr. Right online? She highly doubted it, and yet there was a small part of her that hoped for it to be so.

BJ was good to her, not to mention
for
her. Without even trying, he encouraged her to admit to her true feelings about herself and the world, emotions she usually stuffed way,
way
down inside her heart and mind.

How did he do that?

It was unsettling but in a good way. No one else knew her private thoughts and feelings the way he did.

But
cascading hair?
Floral dresses?
What could be further from the truth? Would he be disappointed if they met in person and he learned that she was so far from what he had imagined?

No one except her own family had ever seen her wearing her hair down, in a literal sense. She’d been wearing her hair in a knot since the beginning of junior high school when the popular girls had picked on her for being a tomboy. In Vee’s contrary way, her defense had been to be exactly that, and so from then on, her thick, dark hair was always pulled tightly into a bun at the nape of her neck.

But that was a long time ago. She wasn’t facing junior high drama anymore, so what did the way she wore her hair even matter anymore?

Maybe BJ was right. Maybe she should—

“Hey, Vee.” Ben’s rich baritone voice startled her and she bolted upright in her seat as if she’d touched a live electrical wire. “I’m surprised to see you here. Didn’t you say you had plans for dinner tonight? I thought maybe you had a date or something.”

“Ben,” she exclaimed, laying a hand on her racing heart as he slid into the chair across from her. Her pulse roared in her head as, in a panic, she clumsily moused over the
X
that closed the browser completely.

Well, that was smooth. She’d been so lost in her thoughts that she hadn’t seen him standing next to her. How long had he been there? Had he seen the email?

She’d probably drawn attention to herself with all of her jumping and jerking, but if he suspected anything was amiss, he didn’t say so.

As a matter of fact, he didn’t say anything at all. He just leaned his elbows on the table, staring at her over the top of the computer monitor, his bronze-green eyes unreadable. Vee wasn’t sure how long it was until Jo arrived at the table with a serving tray in her hands, but her interruption was an unquestionable relief. Vee hadn’t realized she was holding her breath until Jo spoke and dissolved the tension in the air.

“Coffee and fresh apple pie for each of you,” Jo said, disrupting the silence as she served them.

“Thank you, Jo,” Ben said, squaring the plate of pie in front of him and picking up his fork. “This looks delicious. But, uh, what about dinner?” he asked, directing his question toward Vee. “Is pie going to do it for you? No wonder you’re so tiny.”

Vee straightened her spine and tipped her chin. So what if she was small in stature? It wasn’t from eating dessert instead of her regular meals. She glared at him.

Jo, as always, could read Vee well enough to pick up on the tension and interrupted once again. “Meatloaf, mashed potatoes and green beans are the house special tonight,” she tempted. “My nephew makes a mean batch of home-style potatoes and gravy.”

Ben and Vee nodded simultaneously, and Vee realized just how hungry she really was when her stomach growled at the offering. She’d been so distracted by BJ’s email that she hadn’t been paying attention to her rumbling tummy.

If
she
was hungry, she realized belatedly, then Ben must be famished. He’d pulled more than his share of the weight helping her break in the soil for the garden. It was still tough this time of year.

“What happened to your steak dinner?” she asked as soon as Jo left the table to put in their orders. “I thought you and your parents had something going.”

He shrugged and shook his head, causing a dark curl to fall forward onto his brow. The right side of his mouth twitched upward. “As it turned out, my parents already had dinner plans with another couple,” he explained. “Apparently they’re following some reality television show or other together. Can you imagine? I would never have pegged my parents for something like that.” He chuckled. “Anyway, I didn’t want to eat alone, so here I am. And you?”

“I have a date.”

He raised a brow.

She couldn’t help but chuckle. “With my computer. I’ve got some...stuff I need to catch up on.” That was vague enough, right?

“Landscaping?”

She shrugged noncommittally. She was a dinosaur who still did most of her landscaping the old-fashioned way—sketching by hand—but Ben didn’t need to know that.

“I’ve got to say I’m impressed by that
stuff.
I had no idea that planting a garden could be so complicated. Or so interesting.”

“Not to mention fun,” she added, warming to the conversation. “Come on, you can admit it. You enjoyed digging in the dirt with me. Isn’t that every little boy’s fantasy come to life?”

His eyes widened and his gaze danced, and she realized that her words
might
have come out sounding flirtatious—which of course wasn’t her intention.

She was suddenly aware—
very
aware—of the tension, like an electrical charge in the atmosphere between them. Something had shifted. Changed.
Warmed.
And she couldn’t break her gaze away from Ben’s to save her life.

It was Ben who finally looked away, taking a slow, deliberate sip of his coffee. His smile, however, did not disappear. If anything, it grew stronger.

“So, then,” he asked casually, “did you want me to find another table for dinner? I’d hate to bother you if you’re—busy.”

She wanted to say he should leave. She knew she
should
bow out gracefully. He’d generously given her that out on a platter. And yet... And yet. He’d been generous with his time today, and his efforts on helping her with the gardening. He’d been patient and hardworking. Companionable, even.

“No, of course not. Please stay.”

* * *

This was way,
way
better than steak. Not the meatloaf, though that was good, too, but mostly it was the company Ben was keeping. And he couldn’t have been more surprised than if he were enjoying a meal with Attila the Hun.

Vee Bishop usually took a swipe at him at every turn, but tonight he was discovering that she could be warm and sweet when she wanted to be. He’d always known she was an intelligent woman with a great deal of inner strength, but spending time with her, both gardening and at dinner, had enlightened him in more ways than one.

He’d always considered her a little bit edgy—which she definitely was—but it hadn’t even occurred to him to wonder about what else went on in that tough-girl brain of hers, that there might be other sides to her that he was missing.

Not until today, anyway.

“My sister Kayla’s coming into town for a few days,” he commented before forking a bite of mashed potatoes into his mouth and groaning in pleasure at the delightfully creamy homemade texture. “She’s bringing my two nephews with her.”